


The Chocolate, Wine, and Moonlight Affair

by DixieDale



Category: The Girl from U.N.C.L.E., The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:14:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29354028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When a mission goes awry, Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin, April Dancer, and Mark Slate are trapped in a manmade cave, the only opening far above them through which the pale moon gave them their only light.  Their only resources are each other.  Well, along with that one York's Peppermint round that Illya had grabbed somewhere along the way, and the small split of red wine April had purchased at the gift shop as a gag gift for Napoleon (with his tastes for fine wine, the cheaper than cheap 'vintage' would have been just that for the sophisticated senior agent) and stashed in her handbag.Chocolate, wine and moonlight - standard Valentine's Day requirements, if not being shared under ideal circumstances.  But for them, it was enough.
Kudos: 6





	1. Chocolate, Wine and Moonlight

It was a casual conversation as the four met at the corner and made their way together to Waverly's office. There was no hurry; the meeting had been scheduled for two o'clock sharp, and they had plenty of time. It was hardly better to get there early than to get there late - either would get them a severe setdown.

"Valentine's Day plans? Not much of anything for me," Mark admitted when asked. "Left it too long to ask someone here, not thinking I'd be back from Belchatz before the end of the month. Then, when I DID get back earlier than planned, the Old Man put me on Stand-By Rotation. 

"Well, you know how that goes," he told them with a wry shrug. "If there was someone I was close to, someone who'd understand the circumstances and take a raincheck if I didn't show, that would be one thing. But anyone more casual wouldn't likely take it very well, and can't go explaining how things stand to a civilian, can I? Even the ones here, the ones who SHOULD understand a Section 2's schedule isn't their own, can tend to get a bit stroppy. I've gone through that before, and it's gotten nasty," he admitted ruefully. "Got hot tea dumped in my lap that one time, remember, April?"

That there was no one in particular he yearned after spending the evening with went unsaid. Frankly, even if he HADN'T been on the Stand-By Rotation, he probably would still have skipped the whole thing, manufactured some reason to be unavailable.

In fact, he wasn't all that displeased at the action by the Old Man, considering it gave him a good excuse for not making a concerted effort and still not ending up on the grapevine with some disgruntled female letting everyone know just what she thought of his manners or lack of romantic nature or anything else. 

That had happened one year too; three separate women took issue with their having hinted broadly that they'd love to spend Valentine's Day evening with him and him being 'totally oblivious!!'. 

Well, he hadn't been oblivious so much as not interested, and he'd thought playing it that way would be less painful all around. He DID have plans for the evening, plans that ended in a bitter quarrel when he'd spotted the trap being set for him and declined to step into its jaws. Afterwards he'd debated whether he would have been better off taking one of those three women out on the town, or just staying home and unscrewing the top from a new bottle of gin.

Considering what he'd found out soon after the pursuit had started - that the three had been pursuing him as part of some perverse competition between themselves, not from wanting to spend time with him, he decided the gin was more reliable, and at least in the short term, more satisfying, and made a point to remember that for future Valentine's Days. Yes, some decent gin, maybe a few of those chocolate walnut brownies April kept him supplied with, some music on the player or maybe a movie on the telly - that was all the excitement and romance he was looking for on that particular night.

Actually, he was coming to realize, the less excitement in the dating field the better, at least for him, and once you get to that stage, what really was the point? After all, Mark flitted from female to female (and occasionally from female to male and back again) without much more than a brief flurry of excitement on his part and not even that much romantic intent. 

As he was much more lowkey about the whole dating thing than the senior agent, Napoleon Solo, the details of his dating status wasn't on the grapevine nearly so often. That was just as well, considering the times it HAD made the grapevine, between the tea-dumping and the screeching accusations and other such things - well, it hadn't been pleasant and Waverly had NOT been amused.

Overall he wasn't totally dissatisfied with the situation as it stood. While it was lonely at times, it was also much less fraught with the potential for scenes and awkward gossip, not to mention something far more dangerous, as had been the case with Raoul. 

He was brought back to the conversation by a question from their senior agent.

"Have you done something in particular to annoy Mr. Waverly again, Mark?" Napoleon queried, with a knowing look. Only the most junior agents were placed on the Stand-By Rotation usually, except for disciplinary reasons; it had been a very long time since Solo had been there, but Mark Slate had enough seniority not to be there either, or at least he shouldn't have been without some major failure on his part. At least, failure as seen by Alexander Waverly; not everyone might have seen it that way, of course.

"Napoleon, you know better than that. Mr. Waverly is not one to take out his annoyances in such petty retribution," Illya commented in a tone drier than the driest of deserts. 

Actually, that was one of Waverly's best-known, though best not discussed, traits. April Dancer called it 'passive-aggressive acting out, rather more suited to a teenager than to a man of his years'. But that was April for you; for someone who tried to always be a lady, sometime she was more like her distant relatives in her lack of subtlety. Although even she was very careful only to express such an opinion to her own partner AND in private.

"Ah, that is so true, of course," Napoleon Solo commented with a suave look. He knew a little about Waverly's passive-aggressive tendencies as well. "What about you, April? Any special plans?"

He didn't ask Illya; he already knew what his partner wanted, had been reminded most firmly just that morning. Oh, no specific details, Illya being inclined to leave those to Napoleon's reliable taste and judgment. Still, the overall concept - yes.

April replied pensively, "I'm not sure yet, other than the basic requirements. You know, chocolate and wine, perhaps moonlight if in the right company, though who that 'right company' might be, I haven't a clue right now. Oh, I have invitations but I haven't decided on one in particular yet. There's no one I'm particularly stuck on, so I've been thinking about what was suggested as entertainment to help me decide. There's been mention of the symphony, or that new jazz club that just opened up, or a Broadway show, with dinner either before or after, depending. The only one I've turned down flat was the one from Parker Nelson. Well, really!" Her tone matched the outright dismissal on her attractive face, which got her a curious look from all three men. April went out of her way to be gracious, and that was just a trifle - well, NOT.

Mark raised a questioning brow. "Have something not to your fancy in mind, love? Other than Nelson himself, of course; no one could blame you for THAT! Thinks a bit too highly of himself for too little reason, at least as I see it. Wouldn't be so bad, him THINKING that, I suppose, but he keeps sharing that self-delusional opinion with everyone within earshot, which does get tiresome."

April snorted, though in a very ladylike manner. "The new exhibition at Felty's Gallery. Really! Why on earth would I want to attend THAT with Parker Nelson, of all people??! It would be totally possible to enjoy the art in his company. You KNOW how he is!"

"Felty's Gallery?" Illya asked, that not being a place he had visited before.

"A small gallery, rather more avant garde than the Met," Mark assured him. "And I agree, April. Why WOULD you attend an art exhibit, particularly that one, with Nelson? He'll either annoy everyone with his snide commentary or pucker up and cause a scene by playing Sweet Mary on you. Likely get you mobbed or thrown out!

"Besides, I know Robert would give us the private tour if you wanted; would be more than happy to," Mark offered. "If nothing else strikes your fancy for that night, we could do dinner at Venara's, then head over there. Or any other night, if you prefer."

He wouldn't press; certainly wouldn't want to take her away from spending time with someone she DID fancy spending Valentine's Day evening with. It was just that he'd far rather be with April, spending time doing that - dinner, the exhibit - or something else, than anyone, anything else he could think of. 

She was good company, his partner. Always a lady, in her own way, but very sharp in most every way, as well as being intellectually curious and not in the least bit a priss. Didn't expect you to spend a fortune on dinner and wine, either, then scold you for 'over-indulging' while she nibbled at her plate like an anemic rabbit, 

"Robert"? Napoleon asked, after a puzzled glance at his partner. He was no more familiar with Felty's Gallery than Illya, but he DID like visiting the avant garde galleries from time to time; had picked up a few choice pieces of art to add to his collection that way. Not to mention the ladies did seem to think the wine and cheese parties frequently hosted at such places were quite the thing. He'd done quite well in such venues, back in the days when he was actually out looking for some congenial companionship.

"Robert Maplethorpe," April said with a serene smile. "One of those photographic artists where you either love his work or you hate it, or at least everyone pretends that's the case. I've always loved his early work, so evocative! It will be interesting to see how he has progressed. 

"And yes, Mark, if your friend would be willing, I'd LOVE a private tour of the collection. In fact, let's plan on that for the fourteenth; that way I don't have to choose between Plan A, B or C when none of them are particularly tempting. AND that lets me gracefully decline in plenty of time for all three to find other companions for the evening."

Mark and April were a good ten feet closer to their destination before they realized their fellow agents were still standing in the hallway behind them. They exchanged puzzled looks at finding themselves alone, but waited paitently for the other two to catch up.

As for the senior agents, the name Maplethorpe was not unfamiliar to them, but somehow Napoleon couldn't see April being a great fan! That Mark was a friend of the artist, that was eye-opening as well.

Illya's mouth twitched as he watched Napoleon trying to take all that in. Well, he spent time in the more avant garde galleries as well, but HE actually went to study the art! He was aware Napoleon had other reasons, at least he had earlier, and could often leave such an exhibit with not a clue as to the works or the artists who had created them.

"I believe Robert Maplethorpe has a very wide range of subject matter in his portfolio, Napoleon. His early work was considered to have a very structured artistic balance, where composition and beauty came first. If, to his eye, those things existed in an object or a scene, they were a suitable subject for his camera."

"So they weren't all - um - " Napoleon asked, raising a questioning brow.

"All nudes or the homo-erotic works so decried by the more puritanical of critics? No. Although in some ways, even his other works somehow brought the sensual to mind, though I have never quite decided how he managed that. There was one photograph of a bank of windows, some curtained, some not; not what you would consider very interesting perhaps in the description, yet somehow it stirred the senses. Perhaps I will see if Mark could arrange a tour for us as well; I would very much like to discuss that aspect of his work with the artist himself. Though not on the fourteenth; I would prefer to spend that evening in a more traditional manner. As April said - chocolate, wine, possibly moonlight if the company is right." 

The faint smile on the Russian's face as he caught his partner's eye was quite evocative as well, Napoleon thought. Not to mention sensual.

Illya moved off to catch up with the two waiting junior agents, and after a brisk shaking of his head as if he'd just come in out of a heavy rain, Napoleon hurried after his partner. 

Going from Robert Maplethorpe to Alexander Waverly would be challenging, but he was the senior agent; he just had to make the stretch. Delivering on Illya's requirements for the fourteenth - that wouldn't be a stretch at all. That would be pure unrelieved delight. Chocolate, wine, moonlight - plus plenty of food, of course. Napoleon had just decided on the main course - Chateaubriand with all the trimmings - when they reached Waverly's office and were waved in by his secretary.


	2. "It Appears We Have A Situation"

"Gentlemen, Miss Dancer. It appears we have a situation, here," using his pointer rather like a conductor uses his baton - a wide swinging motion, punctuated by a quick stab at a point, then skidding past and moving briskly on.

{"So, this time we at least stay in the country."}. Napoleon thought that was more than a relief, though the Midwest seemed an unusual place for trouble of their sort to pop up. He rather thought the touchdown was somewhere in Missouri, though the scope of that pointer movement took in a number of states. {"I'm pretty sure we're heading farther west than Indiana and not as far north west as the Dakotas, but maybe he will narrow it down in the briefing."}

"I'm not familiar with that part of the country, sir" Mark ventured, drawing down a rumpling of Waverly's brows.

"Then I suggest you BECOME familiar with it, Mr. Slate. THRUSH is certainly doing so. We can hardly allow them to set up operations there, now can we?"

"No, sir," came as a unified chorus. Well, it was the expected response, and it wouldn't do to disappoint the Old Man this early in the briefing.

"Branson, Missouri - Silver Dollar City as this particular location is called. It is what I believe is called a 'theme park', depicting a town of the 1880's in that part of the country. There is a cave attached to the property, originally called Marble Cave, now renamed Marvel Cave since what they once suspected was marble turned out to be limestone. THRUSH, at least this Mr. and Mrs. Barker who appear to be affiliated with THRUSH, are most interested in that cave and that theme park for some reason. It is your task to find out what they want from there, what they are planning, and put a stop to it."

The four looked at each other, each thinking pretty much the same thing. {"Well, that's a little vague,"} but it was Illya who made the inquiry.

"How did we discover their interest? Are there any local contacts we can trust?"

Waverly nodded sagely, reaching for his pipe. "Very astute questions, Mr. Kuryakin. Unfortunately, although I can answer the first, the second is more tenuous. In fact, it might be somewhat difficult to differentiate the locals from the possible THRUSH operatives considering the costumery that is prevalent in that place."

Back in Solo and Kuryakin's office, the four made their plans. 

"So, Hank McMasters is a retired UNCLE agent who went back home after putting in his forty in Eastern Europe to join his extended family working at this Silver Dollar City place - as a blacksmith, of all things. He overhears the gunfighter and the saloon girl - this Howard and Irma Barker - discussing something that caught his attention, aroused his suspicions, so he follows them. They meet up with someone dressed like a sheriff, someone McMasters recognizes as a THRUSH scientist - Dr. Cloome. You know, it sounds rather like a novel by Zane Grey or a television western," Napoleon said in a wry tone. "Or one of those ridiculous spy movies, one of the ones we poke fun at for being so far off the mark. Sometimes I want to sit them down and get a few things straight!"

"I don't fancy trying to sort out the villains from the performers, not with everyone in costume, and wigs and false eyebrows and the like," Mark worried. His own lack of familiarity with the Midwest, either of the 1880's or the current time, would be a handicap, but as the others had admitted they had scarcely any more knowledge, he didn't feel he would be too much of a liability. Well, other than one other little matter, one Illya quickly brought up.

"And how well Mark and I will fit in is also a question," Illya reminded them. "Our accents are hardly of that region."

"Don't worry, Darlings. We'll come up with something appropriate," April reassured the two blonds, causing them to look at her with more than a degree of skepticism. Sometimes April's sense of humor led to a rather odd take on 'appropriate'.

They discussed, made their plans, checked the maps and all else. Finally, realizing there was nothing else they could deal with before they had more information, they checked their weapons, loaded whatever they thought they might need, made one last stop at their apartments to pick up essentials.

Finally, with a wide wave of his hand, Napoleon Solo gave the regal directive to Mark who was taking the first turn at the wheel. 

"Go West, young man, go West! Well, at least as far as St. Louis; then we can decide on the best route."


	3. A Room With An Ocean View

Howard Barker, US Congressman from Kansas, was rich - very very rich. The cattle business had been very good to him, as had his other enterprises, including wheat fields that spanned several counties. But he needed to be rich. After all, he had his lovely wife Irma to please, and that took money - a great deal of money. 

Upon her arrival three years ago as a new bride, Irma had looked around at the main ranch, the tiny town closest to the ranch, the vast acres surrounding them, and promptly came up with a plan. 

Well, Irma may be a Vegas showgirl - now, an ex-showgirl - had married money, in the rough but obliging Howard Barker, but she had bigger dreams. She wanted to make movies. Oh, she wanted to star in a few as well, but mostly she wanted to direct them, produce them. 

Where Howard saw wheat fields and a fine cattle operation, Irma saw open space that could be put to better use, and she promptly coaxed her new husband into devoting a nice piece of land to doing just that.

Howard had already built her a mini-Hollywood-style studio on his vast acres on the family cattle ranch, complete with a big arched entrance proclaiming the place 'IrmaWood - Home of All-American Films', complete with sets, sound stages, musicians and technicians and loads of others on call, and everything else.

That hadn't done the trick for Irma, not totally anyway, even after his lovely bride had acted as Casting Director and Production Manager for all three of the productions on the agenda - 'The Belle of Mallison's Ridge', 'The Bride Finds A Cowboy', and 'Lassie Needs A Home'. 

A real surprise there, right??! Almost as much of a surprise as the finished movies were to their writers, Irma having taken a great deal of so-called poetic license with their works.

Well, she had some real objections to each of the original scripts, thought she could do MUCH better. 

"Mallison's Gap? I think that word 'gap' is just really awful - it just SOUNDS bad, you know, Howard, like you're talking about someone who's had his teeth knocked out in a bar fight. 'Ridge' is much better, and so is my ending. And changing the leading lady from that prim old maid school teacher to the dashing Eastern heiress, that is much more appealing! 

"And the second script was tacky and depressing, at least before I fixed it. I read that script, and the heroine had just got married to the rich town banker and was on her honeymoon, and now she's falling in love with a down-on-his-luck drifting cowboy? And it ending with the banker strangling her and the cowboy getting hung for killing the banker? Ewwww! Now, in MY version, it's only a fake marriage, to keep the banker's mother from knowing he WASN'T married after all those months of writing her that he was, just to stop her from nagging him to come home and marry her best friend's daughter. And the mother's character added a little comedy, what with her coming to town and everyone having to do all that pretending. And later, after she leaves, him being so grateful he gives the cowboy and the heroine that little ranch he'd foreclosed on and them settling down together, that was a nice touch. It was much better after I made those changes, never mind what the WRITER thought! Yes, I know you had to pay him a lot to stop whining about me 'ruining a perfectly lovely tragedy', but I DO so like a happy ending. 

"And that third one? I know you said I should star in that one, leave the directing to someone else, but I will NOT play second-fiddle to a dog, Howard, and I have no intention of playing the mother to those two brats! I'm far too young for such a role, and besides, the sketches of her clothes are just dreadful, like something my grandma would have worn, and nice clothes would have seemed out of place.

"No, if I ever star in one of my productions, I want glamour - silk and satin ballgowns - fancy feathers in my hair and it being all piled up on top of my head! I want orchestras in the background, not a fiddle and a banjo! I want Hollywood, only bigger and better and much more popular! IrmaWood just won't cut the mustard, I don't care HOW big that sign is - not the way it is now!! It's a good start, Howie, and I appreciate it, really I do! But we need something special, something more."

As she put it, with that pretty little pout that had first attracted him to her, "I want to make movies that everyone talks about! I want to be the one the really great actors and actresses BEG to direct their next film! And, once in a while, I want to BE the big star in movies made in the ONLY real place to make movies. Who's gonna go see a movie produced HERE when the real stuff is still being made in Hollywood, tell me that!

"Oh," she added casually, "and I want an ocean view from my bedroom window too. The Pacific Ocean, the other one just isn't as pretty."

"The Pacific Ocean??! Isn't that next to California??" Howard asked, his mind reeling from that little addition to what his sweet Irma had on her wish list.

Well, Howard could possibly buy a movie studio out in California, but he couldn't just pick up and move, not if he wanted to stay in politics. He just wasn't someone 'those flibberty-gibbits out there', as he termed them, would appreciate, he knew that full well. Kansas was his territory, Kansas was where he knew everyone and everyone knew him. Kansas was where he made his money, had the power that money and family connections gave him. Kansas was where he needed to be.

He thought and thought, and made a decision. Hollywood was going to just have to disappear and make room for IrmaWood to step up to the plate! And he had a few ideas of his own to add to the mix, like getting that Pacific Ocean one heck of a lot closer - like right next door.

A movie studio was a fine idea; he didn't dispute that. What he'd built for Irma was a good start, could do a fine job at the business. But to really put IrmaWood on the map, really make the place a household name, they needed to have it be more than just a place that made movies that people went to movie houses to watch. 

They needed something that made people do that, alright, sure, but also needed something to make people want to COME here, visit, spend their money by the fistful. They needed something that would appeal to everyone - the regular folks who, while they like a movie now and again, might like something else right alongside. 

What he had in mind was what they called a 'theme park', like that Disneyland place, also out on the West Coast in California.

Oh, he and Irma had visited Disneyland, and he'd gotten some real good ideas from there. But he'd heard about a new place, just opened up a few years ago, Silver Dollar City, over in Missouri, and it sounded like some of what they had would sweeten the pie a whole lot. He figured him and Irma would make a trip, check the place out.

And after that, he just might consider a casino and a big hotel for all those visitors to stay, a place to gamble away their money. Of course, that would mostly be for the ritzy folks, but he didn't see why rich folks should be left out. Why, that part of the operation might bring in as much as his cattle business eventually. 

He figured he might just call it IrmaLand, the whole shebang, to keep with the theme. They could put the other on that big sign, just below the other; people would come in the big gate, could go to the left to get to IrmaWood for the movie set, go to the right to get to IrmaLand. He'd chuckled when he thought about it, how well it could work. 

But there was that 'getting rid of Hollywood' and getting Irma her Pacific Ocean view to take care of first. Well, at least to get started on while they had their little vacation in Silver Dollar City.

Luckily, during his last trip to Washington, D.C. to vote on that nonsense someone had up for a vote, he'd run into someone who just might be able to help. Wasn't a sure thing, of course; just cause someone was sounding off in that hotel bar didn't mean they could do what they were bragging they could. Still, he'd made a point of buying the guy a drink, finding out he worked for some people called THRUSH. Got his moniker and location too, since all that 'earthquake machine' business sounded like something that just might come in handy some day. And it looked like the day had come.


	4. Theme Park Attractions

Illya had picked up a brochure for each of them, but he was the only one paying a great deal of attention to it. They'd let him be the narrator/tour guide; they were too busy looking around, trying to find their bearings. It wasn't that there weren't signs, it was that there were so MANY signs directing the visitors to so MANY activities and events and exhibits that it was hard to take it all in.

"How many crafts did the brochure say are being demonstrated?" April asked. Some of those Illya had listed held no interest for her, but there were a few that just might.

"Oh my word!" Mark proclaimed in awe as he looked around the area and read the various signs posted there, each with their own directing arrow. The food booths, the restaurant - each had at least a partial menu attached, enough to get his attention.

"Never mind the craftsmen and the like, Illya, look at what they're putting forward as the edibles! Silver Dollar pancakes with five different kinds of syrup, along with eggs and sausages and hashed browns. And how is 'genuine country ham' different than than just 'ham'? Catfish, and catfish roe? Hush puppies? Grits? What ARE those? And did you see that booth promising 'better vittals than you've ever et in your life'??? Why have we never visited here before??!"

The Russian was thunderstruck as well. "I do not know, but it was a major oversight, obviously! There, see, that sign? - ham hocks and beans, hot greens and ham, fried okra, fried green tomatoes? Napoleon, you have never mentioned any of this, much less those miner's pan biscuits with butter and honey" that latter coming with a more than a little accusatory tone.

Napoleon cleared his throat, "well, somehow it just never came up in the conversation," looking around with some trepidation. Oh, not just regarding the food, though little appealed to him personally. It was the crowd that made him uneasy, not only the fact that so many were in costume, making identification difficult, but the sheer number of people milling around was going to complicate the job.

Silver Dollar City was doing a booming business, possibly due to that music and craft festival they'd seen signs for on the last stretch of road coming in this direction. As difficult as he'd thought it would be locating this Mr. and Mrs. Barker and any associated THRUSH operatives, that difficulty had just grown enormously with the joustling crowds of people visiting the various exhibits, the shops, the food booths and main restaurant, the theater where shows were being held.

April was considering the glass blowing booth and the silversmith across the way, tempted by the colorful and shiny objects on display.

"I could start asking around, Napoleon, but it's rather like looking for a needle in a haystack. As well as the strong possibility of asking just the wrong person the wrong question. And the blacksmith is giving an exhibition and won't be available to talk with us for at least two hours. Should we advise Mr. Waverly?" she asked doubtfully. She could already imagine the response they'd most likely get - "well? Do you expect me to come there and do your job for you? Just get it done!"

"No, not yet. Illya -". Napoleon looked around for his partner, realizing Mark was also among the missing. "Now where did they get to? April, did they spot someone, go to investigate?"

A knowing gurgle greeted that question. "Not someone, Napoleon, someTHING. Up ahead, the sign for 'country fried steak dinner - all you can eat'. I believe they are investigating just what a 'country fried steak' is, and what is included in that all you can eat dinner."

"I will never understand those two and their fascination with fried food! And they never seem to have any ill effects! I'd be up all night with the bicarb!" the senior agent admitted.

"I think Mark can digest just about anything, and it seems Illya is much the same. Oh, here they come now," April said, looking at the two eager faces coming toward them.

Somehow the dapper Napoleon Solo found himself at a wooden table staring down at the platter that had been placed in front of him. "I'll never be able to eat all of this," he commented, looking down at the huge golden fried object surrounded by what seemed a mountain of mashed potatoes. Both were peeking out from the generous ladling of cream gravy poured on top. While the portions of cooked greens and fried okra were a little less copious, they were still daunting to his eyes. The platter towering with heaps of cornbread and biscuits seemed almost poised to attack!

"Don't worry, Napoleon. I'm sure Illya can handle anything you just can't manage," April said. She'd ordered the 'lady's portion' of the same meal, and it was still three times what she could envision eating. Well, she knew Mark would be happy to take over where she left off.

The meal took a portion of that two hour wait, as did visiting some of the shops, then they were off to talk with Hank, the ex-UNCLE agent, now blacksmith who'd reported that suspicious activity in the first place. 

Meanwhile, Howard and Irma were enjoying themselves even though it WAS a business trip. 

Irma watched the shows, gathering a few ideas along the way; she bought some silver jewelry, indulged in some desserts, figuring she'd walk off any surplus calories. 

Howard took notes, lots of them, of the things he thought might go over big in IrmaLand - the staged productions, the variety of food booths, the craft exhibits, the costumes. He visited the big cave that he'd heard about, talked to the blacksmith who seemed to know so much about the place, asked loads of questions. Oh, he'd been discreet about it, had even borrowed another one of those costumes from one of the performers, this one complete with big handlebar moustache and bartender's apron, so the man wouldn't recognize him as the gunslinger he'd talked to before. The THRUSH scientist had left to go get what he'd need to figure out if Irma Springs had the right 'vibes's' for his machine to work right, would meet them back there.

"No, Irma, he never even figured out I was pumping him for information, just like I did a few days ago. You know me," he'd assured his wife, also in costume, but as a lovely dance hall girl once again. Well, she just didn't LIKE those other costumes! 

"And did you overhear that family in at the restaurant? Talking about a place called Marble Hill, how driving through there was like riding on that roller coaster they've got in New York City? It's not all that far, that Marble Hill place; think that'd be worth taking a look at, since we don't have time to go to New York City. Might be something we could add in later on."

And, after they had pulled together all they thought would be useful from Silver Dollar City and Marvel Cave, they headed east to Marble Hill. It was just like that family said, and Howard decided a roller coaster would be a good notion. 

"Maybe even something like that scary place with the water all around, Irma. Maybe put that together with that mine ride they're putting together at Silver Dollar City. Bet that'd go over big with the kids. Maybe lay some track, add in a steam engine train. Could give rides on that, maybe juice it up some."

Irma wasn't all that keen on the idea, he could tell. Well, he knew what could sweeten her up some.

"Bet something like that'd be real good in one of those movies of yours, too. Could probably use it, maybe the roller coaster too, in all kinds of stories," he enthused, watching her roll the idea around in her head. When he saw that smile start to replace her frown, he knew she'd bought into his idea.

"That's fine, Howard, but can we head home now? I've read through those scripts I brought with me, and I'm ready to start casting "Under The Dogwood Tree". I think Doris Day would be perfect, maybe with Rock Hudson. And maybe Jack Lemmon too. Oh, it needs some changes first; sometimes these writers get such silly notions! But I fixed it up, and it should be a real blockbuster!"

"That sounds just fine, Irma. You work on all that while I get with that fella on getting you that Pacific Ocean view you're wanting."

They were both gonna be real busy for awhile, but he just knew it would all be worth it. His Irma would have her ocean view and her movie studio, they'd be bringing in the tourists in droves, and even if the cattle business ever went bust or folks stopped making bread, they'd be rolling in money. 

Hank had the contacts in Silver Dollar City, and he soon was able to discover just where the Barkers had asked for directions to. After a stop at the local post office where April and Illya mailed their varied purchases to themselves to be waiting when they returned to New York, Napoleon and the others hurried to follow their trail, a trail that led eastward, to a place called Marble Hill. 

No, they had no idea why the Barkers had headed in this direction, it being in the opposite direction from their home, but that was all they had to go on. They got there, found the Barkers hadn't even spent any real time there, just drove through with making only one stop for gas and a fast meal. The couple had already left, and the four agents hastened to follow. 

Well, they hastened as much as the terrain would let them. The road they were on discouraged too much haste, though the car didn't seem to understand the need for caution. The twists and turns seemed never to end, the car seeming to move faster and faster as if struggling to keep up with the variations being presented to it. They were all a little surprised when the vehicle shuddered to a stop outside a small convenience store with a single gas pump off to the side. They'd been not only surprised, but more than relieved; they'd somehow gotten the idea that the car didn't INTEND to stop, no matter what the driver directed. 

The big bulky red and white rectangular box drew each of them, it being filled with bottles floating in water chilled by the ice floating therein. It would have been more than superhuman of them not to reach in, draw out one of the icy glass bottles of Coke floating in that chamber. No, it wasn't that hot, not hot at all, in fact, but they were hoping the fizz would settle their roiling stomachs.

The offer by the grizzled proprietor to provide 'live bait' wasn't as appealing, certainly his description of what he had to offer in that line - "crickets, nightcrawlers", especially when he held one of the nightcrawlers up to dangle in front of them to show them how " fat and juicy" his stock was.

When asking for directions, they found the short way was "likely under water by now. Had a mite of rain lately." 

Still, there was a way out other than making another trip on that nightmare of a road they'd followed earlier. They were initially grateful for that, though it turned out the way out wasn't any more pleasant. Oh, it wasn't winding and hilly like the trip in, but still made the hair on the back of their necks quiver. That last stretch in particular - the narrow pockmarked road almost submerged by the rising water from the deep trenches on either side. The trees overhung the road, aiding in the effect of being surrounded by unknown enemies. Now, instead of speeding along like a mad thing, the car seemed to slow to a crawl and crouch lower, as if trying to escape attention.

"It had to be a log; I am quite sure there are no alligators this far north," Napoleon assured his three passengers. He found their supposed sightings of those large reptiles only added to his uneasiness. That large snake that had slithered from one side of the road to the other made him uncomfortable enough, even before its mate dropped from one of those encroaching trees to land on the hood of their car before sliding off. Consciously forcing himself to loosen his grip on the steering wheel before he did it or himself damage, he tried to urge the car to a slightly greater speed. A quick movement, a sudden splash to his right found him swallowing heavily and repeating to himself, {"just a log - just a log!"}

Somehow they found the long drive into Kansas not nearly as boring as they'd thought it might be. Well, maybe it was, but they had decided by then that boring wasn't as bad as you might think. They were finding boring a nice change, actually.


	5. "I Think I Need To Recalibrate It Slightly"

"Irma Springs? I don't see it on the map, Napoleon. From what I can tell, this is Rupert Springs, though we followed the directions we were given. Maybe we should ask when we stop for gas."

They did, and heard the story from the oldster manning the pumps. 

He'd snorted in amused contempt before answering.

"This IS Ruben Springs, leastwise on the map. Still IS Ruben Springs as far as most of us are concerned. But Howard Barker is the big man around here, and when he brought home that new wife of his, he got it in his head the place needed to be called Irma Springs. Maps don't get changed all that often, so we get folks in here a lot asking about it. Figure next time they print those things, he'll have talked the state capitol into making the change official. Like I said, Howard Barker is a big man in these parts. Got to be a congressman over in Washington, D.C., after he spent some time in the capitol here in Kansas."

The Barkers had arrived home in record time, both of them anxious to get started with their projects. Dr. Cloome had been waiting but had made good of his time, making his calculations, plotting the various places he'd need to direct his invention, starting on the California coast. 

"Of course, it will have to be done gradually, and I believe we might be able to spare part of the coastline to the north and south. My employers are insisting on that, in fact. Still, I should be able to carve out a nice section right here," he said, showing Howard on a map. "Extended inland, your lovely wife should have all the ocean view anrone could want."

Of course, Cloome didn't mention THRUSH would be demanding a great deal of money from the areas left undamaged. Well, after seeing that huge corridor of water that had been a nice chunk of California (as well as parts of Navada, Utah, and Colorado), there was no doubt the various populations would pay up, along with the state governments, and probably the federal as well. Yes, his employers stood to make a dozen fortunes off this little whim of Mr. and Mrs. Barker!

Dr. Cloome had expressed complete optimism that his contraption would work just fine in Kansas, but the first experiment had been less than successful. Oh, it WORKED, but there was no faint tremor like he was trying for. No, there was a shudder, then the ground where he'd pointed the thing just collapsed, leaving a sinkhole of maybe fifty feet wide and who knows how deep!

"Hmmm. I think I need to recalibrate it slightly," the bespectacled man muttered in a distracted manner, while Hank stared in shock at the hole not twenty yards away that now contained one of his older windmills. 

The idea, as Cloome had explained it, was that the vanes of the windmill would show the tremor underneath even if the men couldn't feel it. 

The windmill had been the scientist's second choice, actually. At first, Cloome had suggested using the closest cattle herd as the 'tremor detector', saying the animals would feel it enough to give some signs, though "it won't harm them, of course."

Howard had refused, explaining to the greenhorn just how easily cattle spooked, and how he didn't intend to have a stampede on his hands.

The scientist has pouted some, but now, seeing the gaping hole in the ground that had swallowed his windmill, Howard was happy he had stood his ground. Well, he wasn't all THAT happy; windmills didn't grow on trees, but would be easier to replace than that prize bull in that herd!

Two more experiments and it appeared those recalibrations might be working, though Howard was careful about where he let Cloome point that thing. 

The second try had created a very nice cave, one Howard thought might even be yet another of his theme park's special attractions. Of course, it was a little disconcerting since a cave wasn't the intent, but at least it was a helpful error. 

The third try had created no damage at all, much to their satisfaction, just that slight tremor indicating Dr. Cloome had finally gotten it right. That there might be a delayed reaction, neither of them considered that possibility. Well, not then, anyway. Maybe if Howard had mentioned that Kansas was a little prone to sinkholes, the good Dr. Cloome might have thought harder, done a little more research, but hindsight being twenty-twenty and all -

It was unfortunate, of course, that Dr. Cloome recognized Napoleon from the briefing sheets THRUSH made available to its personnel. And that he was smart enough to realize if ONE of those four 'tourists' so eager to visit IrmaWood was an UNCLE agent, it was likely the other three were as well.

Convincing some of the ranch hands to act as movie extras, directing them in roughly capturing the agents, depositing them in that hole the doctor's machine had made, that manmade cave, that had been easy enough. All the while, Irma filmed the action. 

"Who knows, maybe I can use that footage sometime," she said with an eager smile.


	6. "At Least We Have Moonlight"

When they came to, they quickly checked, hoping against hope some of their weapons had gone undetected. 

"Nothing, I'm afraid," Mark admitted ruefully. None of the others had fared any better. Although April's handbag had been dropped beside her, someone had removed anything that could be helpful in their current situation. Obviously Dr. Cloome had read those briefing sheets very carefully, since the innocent-looking but highly-useful items they each habitually carried were missing, to the very last exploding collar button.

The only opening they could spot was high above. They couldn't tell HOW high since it was nighttime, the cave, if this WAS a cave, was dark and even their penlights didn't illuminate their surroundings enough to gauge distance accurately. They only knew they could see the moon shining above. 

April sighed, "it's Valentine's Day. Somehow I had hoped to be somewhere else tonight. Venara's, with wine and something rich and chocolate-y for dessert. Mark, I DO hope your friend will forgive us for standing him up like this."

Mark snorted with amusement. "Robert knows I travel a lot, sometimes at the last minute. He's never asked details and I've never offered any. He'll know if we didn't show, it was for a good enough reason. He won't be upset. You'll still get your tour, love, when we find a way out of here and get back home."

Illya was a little disgruntled. After all, Napoleon had hinted of something special for tonight. Oh well, it hadn't been deliberate on Napoleon's part - not on ANY of their parts. In their line of work, these things just happened, and the best thing now was to get through it, get out, and deal with the situation.

"At least we have moonlight," Napoleon quipped. "One out of three, that's not bad."

April gurgled a laugh. "We actually have TWO out of three, Napoleon. I have wine, if it's survived," she told him, pulling that shoulder bag opened and rummaging through. "No, it's not broken," she said as she pulled out that small novelty split of wine she'd purchased enroute as a gag gift for Napoleon. With his sophisticated tastes, that wine would be exactly that, not that she had imagined him ever opening it, much less drinking.

Napoleon read the label and groaned. "I'm not sure it qualifies to call itself 'wine', April. It was bottled four months ago in a place I've never heard of as being grape country. Applegate Valley, Oregon?"

"Beggers can't be choosers, Napoleon. And I am pleased to say we have THREE out of THREE," Illya commented, pulling that slightly squashed York Peppermint Patty out of his pocket. 

And while they would have liked to have a way out; would have liked to have their weapons and their communicators and a first aid kit or two, all in all, it was a surprisingly good Valentine's Day evening.

The four friends, two of them lovers, spent Valentine's Day night sharing warmth and stories to drive away the cold. Sharing the moonlight from far overhead. Sharing the small split of Oregon wine and one chocolate peppermint round. All in all, that was enough to carry them through.

After all, as they would later declare -  
"We had chocolate and wine; we had moonlight. We had each other. What more could you ask of Valentine's Day?"

They kept the next part only between them - "Well, freedom, for one thing. Our weapons and communicators, certainly. A first aid kit or two would have come in handy.

But, all in all, at the end of the day, we had chocolate and wine; we had moonlight. We had each other. And somehow, that was enough."

With the morning light came a plan. Yes, it was a goodly distance, that 'window' that given them their moonlight the night before, but there were enough handholds for Mark to make his cautious way upwards. Carefully pulling himself free, he took a careful survey to make sure no one was in sight. Whether someone was watching with binoculars, of course that was impossible to know, but they couldn't cower in that dark hole forever.

Calling to the others below, he watched as first April, then Illya, and finally Napoleon made that careful climb. Now, in the light of day, their injuries were more apparent, though luckily none had gotten worse than some heavy bruising, along with painful but not dangerous cuts and grazes.

"And now?" April asked.

Napoleon had an exceedingly grim look on his face.

"Now we stop them."

Mark raised a questioning brow. "And?"

"That's as far as I've gotten so far," the senior agent admitted.

"A trifle sparse for a plan," Illya commented, "but a worthy start."

Actually, the plan was more than adequate just as it was. They had paused at the props building for Irma's movie company, snatching whatever might suit as a weapon. Armed with a variety of mismatched bludgeons, the four headed to where they could see three figures silhouetted against the sky, obviously intending to bring that manmade cave down on the UNCLE agents they thought were still trapped within.

They'd gotten within a hundred yards, traveling the intervening distance on their stomachs. Napoleon was starting to give the signal when he felt the trembling in the earth beneath his palms. He hesitated for just a second, before ordering "GO! NOW!"

He realized immediately his order might be misunderstood, and quickly snapped, "RUN! That machine's running again!"

And run they did, turning just in time to see Dr. Cloome and his insidious device disappear into the rapidly forming sinkhole of majestic proportions. 

And in less than a second, he had company. Howard and Irma had made their last movie, plotted their last plot, designed their last thrill ride. 

In the end, the four made their trudging way to the mini-mansion Howard had built for his lovely Irma. Everyone else had been sent away so as to have no witnesses, so they had the freedom to rummage around and find their communicators and weapons.

Now Illya sat applying an improvised ice pack - a package of frozen corn - to various heavy bruises. He was luckier than his partner, in that regard anyway, if not in the number of bruises accumulated. Napoleon had been last to the freezer, and was having to make do with a package of frozen brussels sprouts - not nearly as easy to form a comfortable seal around HIS assortment of injuries. 

Mark had been handed a package of frozen green peas by his partner when she'd gladly accepted their urgings to take the one true ice pack they'd found in the freezer. Napoleon had thought to complain - not about April and the ice pack, he was fine with that - but about Mark getting dibs on those frozen peas, but the glare April had sent him caused him to abandon any such notion.

Despite that glare, they were in an oddly giddy mood, considering their various injuries, not to mention their state of filth and exhaustion, or Mr. Waverly's impatient order to "well, wrap it up and get back here. I have a new assignment for you." 

Mark expressed it best, holding that bag of frozen peas gingerly to the large lump on his forehead.

"Well, at least it was relatively straightforward, you know - well, compared to a few of our recent assignments. None of the woo-woo elements that tend to show up far too frequently for my tastes. I admit, some of that can be interesting, but there really should be a limit! No more than every third, or preferably fourth assignment."

April nodded in agreement. "Yes, Darling, there is that. Really, it is rather a pleasant change NOT to have an entry into the Guide this time around. Even the reports should be relatively easy to prepare." 

She frowned just a little, re-thinking about what they'd gone through, and gave a wry smile. 

'Relatively' being the pertinent word, of course. A THRUSH plot to sink the western half of the United States, leaving Kansas on the new coast-line, all because that Congressman's feather-brained and ambitious wife had a yearning to have an ocean view and become a famous movie director. Add in the Congressman's own yearnings to creating something 'one whole heck of a lot better than that 'Disneyland' they have out there in California!' and things had gotten far too interesting. 

"Although Silver Dollar City was worth the time spent," Mark said thoughtfully. "We might try that again sometime, when we have more time. There were any number of dishes we didn't get a chance to try."

Hearing Illya's enthusiastic agreement, Napoleon resigned himself to another bout of indigestion. ("Next time, I'll remember to bring bicarb!)


	7. Epilogue

"We had chocolate and wine; we had moonlight. We had each other. What more could you ask of Valentine's Day?"

The same answer, in very close to the same words, came from each of the four agents. 

Oh, not all together, and not to the same individuals. April was responding to a question from Charlotte Livingstone in Translation, though demurely declining to say who that 'we' consisted of. Mark, to a group of his fellow Brits at a local pub while raising a pint, he also laughing off any inquiry as to his companion for that lovely treat. 

"That'd be telling, it would!"

However, although they felt no compulsion to have a do-over Valentine's Day celebration, claiming that was not necessary since they were just partners, just good friends, Mark and April DID have reservations for Venara's the next evening, to be followed by a private tour of the exhibit at Felty's Gallery.

For Illya and Napoleon, THEY did feel the need, but it was for a more private celebration, just between the two of them.

Napoleon: "We had chocolate and wine; we had moonlight. We had each other. What more could you ask of Valentine's Day?

Illya had responded dryly, "well, freedom, for one thing. Our weapons and communicators, certainly. A first aid kit or two would have come in handy."

But then, with a slightly shy smile on his face - that smile Napoleon loved to see - even the supposedly-dour Russian admitted, "but, yes - all in all, at the end of the day, we had chocolate and wine; we had moonlight. We had each other. And somehow, that was enough."

Napoleon moved closer, "yes, that was enough. I imagine that will always be enough, don't you? Though perhaps we might leave out the Thrush scientist, along with his ambitious cohorts, and add in maybe a nice Chateaubriand with all the trimmings next year. In fact, why don't we give that a try tonight? I know it's the 20th, not the 14th, but didn't April say 'holidays are more a state of mind than anything else'? at least according to someone she knows."

"I like that saying, Napoleon, very much. At one time, I would have thought it a sign of decadent Western self-indulgence, but somehow, considering how little the supposed holidays and our schedules align, it seems quite pragmatic and reasonable. So, Venara's? Or do you prefer somewhere else?"

"Actually, I thought we might try our hand at it in the kitchen. I had the makings sent over from Venara's earlier; the beef has been marinating in garlic and olive oil the proper amount of time and ready to be seared and tucked into the oven. Dauphinoise potatoes, of course, and the other vegetables already prepared and ready to be placed on the pan to roast. The sauces in glass jar just need to be heated - Béarnaise sauce AND wine sauce, since I wasn't sure which you would prefer tonight."

Illya raised a skeptical brow. "And no dessert?" he challenged his partner.

"I believe they included a whole chocolate raspberry torte. Two sauces there as well - hot fudge and raspberry. Whipped cream, of course. Interested, partner?"

That smile Napoleon was giving Illya was one the women at UNCLE Headquarters and elsewhere swooned over. Of course, the one Illya was giving in return had more than a few devotees as well, none more so than Napoleon Solo.

"Interested, yes. I'm starving! And afterwards, perhaps we will prepare that dinner together."

And if it took Napoleon a moment to sort out that seemingly backwards statement - if it took seeing Illya reach out to unbutton the senior agent's starched white shirt, it certainly took no longer than that.

A slow smile was Illya's answer, and then a low if earnest approval of the Russian's admirable grasp of the priorities.


End file.
